


Throw It To The Wolves

by Master_of_the_Rebels



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Bruce is cryptic as always, Damian is so easily irritated, Dick is a flirt in every possible degree, Harley is my spirit animal, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-23
Updated: 2012-04-23
Packaged: 2017-11-04 04:01:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/389526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Master_of_the_Rebels/pseuds/Master_of_the_Rebels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When disaster strikes at the Wayne gala-which, mind you, Damian never wanted to attend in the first place-Bruce tells Damian to create a distraction. Damian gets revenge instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Throw It To The Wolves

**Author's Note:**

> Damian is older in this story, roughly 16.

Regardless of any blood relation to Bruce Wayne, Damian still hadn’t quite mastered the art of the guileless smile that his father was so adept at effecting when confronted with the less than savory social scene of Gotham.  His smile was often strained at best, never meeting his eyes, and he had a very difficult time restraining the spark of impatience that always emerged when he had to associate with young women that wanted nothing more than to be viewed as prospective brides.  Even Damian’s short attitude, still abrasive at times despite six years having passed since his arrival in the city, wasn’t enough to deter them, much to his discontent.  But he did his best, as upholding the family name was essential, and always succeeded in maintaining good relationships with the corporation's partners, even if it meant he had to pretend to enjoy the company of frivolous females.  Though, his exotic features combined with a quickly growing build assisted far more than he would like to admit in this endeavor.

 

The gushing over his person was in prime form tonight, what with the charity fundraiser for the newly refurbished Gotham Orphanage being the topic of the event.  How giving of him and his father, to contribute to such unfortunate children in their time of desperate need.  Damian was a kind and gentle soul, to be so selfless.

 

Colin definitely would have busted a gut laughing.

 

Damian’s lip curled back into an almost snarl at the tittering and giggles surrounding him, but the expression went unnoticed in the brutal competition for his attention.  He had not wanted to be here to begin with.  Tonight had been Drake’s turn to deal with the obnoxious whims of their guests, but no, he had a very important mission to attend to with his former Titans team.  Damian had reasonable suspicion that the clone had invited him to Kansas for pie and a frolic in the cornfields. 

 

It was fortuitous then that the gods above were clearly taking pity on the poor young man, when just seconds later, screams erupted from the guests as the windows of the ballroom shattered, the large French doors out to the balcony giving way and glass raining down on the terrified socialites.

 

Arm lifting in reflex to protect his face, the teen stood his ground as people rushed past him to get away.  There was a distinctive feminine cackle, and Damian’s lip curled back as Harley Quinn’s less-than-dulcet tones echoed about the room. 

 

"Why, Mista Wayne!  I'm offended!  Where's mah invite to this here little soiree?" Cries of terror mounted from the ball attendees as the villainess hiked a preposterously large bazooka over her shoulder.  "All you bigshot mens got excuses.  Lemme guess.  It got lost in the mail? Well, here's a delivery for you!"

 

Damian dove for cover behind a pillar as the weapon went off, exploding against the large banquet table, hors d'oeuvres and platters flying everywhere.  Harley's laughter leapt through the air with hysterical joy.  "Oh goody! Always loved a good barbeque!"

 

"Really, under any other circumstances, I would agree with you, Harley," the rich tenor interrupted her riot, drawing attention to the newcomer framed in the broken window.  Nightwing casually swiped a piece of blackened food--still flaming--from the top of a statue and shot the jester a grin.  "But this might be a little too well done." Harley scowled and shot another explosive shot from her gun, the dessert table going up in flames as Nightwing implemented a series of abstract twists and throws, putting out a couple of the fires with a few freeze bombs.  He snagged the back of a chef's coat and dragged him out from behind a large hide of beef that he'd been slicing just in time. "Seriously though, I really prefer my steak medium rare." Damian shut his eyes to calm his instant aggravation with the vigilante's idiotic puns. 

 

"Come on, Nightwing!  A lady needs tah have at least a dance!" Damian slid along the ground, easing around the glass and various other shards and obstacles, always keeping an ear on the battling pair.  His eyes narrowed at the squeal of wicked delight that emerged from the rampaging woman along with Dick's yelp of surprise.  Damian could just imagine what had happened.

 

"The only dancing you know how to do is dirty dancing, Harley." Damian would have gagged on the cheese if he hadn't practically been expecting the line.

 

“Damian.” His attention snapped to the side immediately at the low growl, and he listened intently for orders from his father crouched beside him.  “Distract.” Without another word, Bruce left, merging into the panicking crowd.

 

Damian stared blankly after him, fighting a need to gape at the command. His father was out of his mind if he thought for a second it would be a simple task to distract the milling insanity of the guests.  He turned back to watch the party crashers fighting their way through the crowd, while trained Wayne employees did their best to keep the civilians from panicking anymore than they already were.

 

Nightwing’s penchant for flipping about every which way—always showing off, just _look_ at that smirk—certainly wasn’t helping to calm the ruckus among the ball’s attendees.  The entire thing was turning into a fiasco, and with all the cameras that had suddenly materialized seemingly out of thin air, it was going to be impossible to find a moment to slip away unseen and make a quick costume change.

 

Luck was with them; Nightwing managed to get a wing-ding lodged into Harley Quinn's shoulder, and she stumbled back in shock, clutching her bleeding wound.  When he saw her toss the bazooka away, Damian stood up and moved out from behind his cover, earning short cries of surprise from some of the women he'd been speaking too just a few minutes prior at his sudden reappearance.  Harley took off for the broken window from which she'd entered and Damian weighed his options, wanting to give chase but knowing it would look suspicious.

 

He managed to take one step before the black and red clad hero landed lightly in front of him, a short tap on his shoulder all the warning he needed to stop moving. “Sorry for the disturbance, Mr. Wayne.” Nightwing shot a winning grin at the teenager, giving a disarming salute with two fingers over the young man’s shoulder to the whispering ladies behind them.  Damian could perfectly picture the sparkling blue eyes, alight with amusement behind the white out lenses of the mask, and he couldn’t resist the prod.

 

“If you were truly sorry, you wouldn’t have allowed such a disaster to occur in the first place.” There were tittering gasps of surprise around them at the bold declaration, and Nightwing’s mouth twitched, the only tell that he found the situation entertaining.

 

With a mock bow, the hero looked up, hair falling artfully in his face to give him a dashing look of charm even through the danger his entire outfit instilled, and if Damian didn’t know better, he’d have said it was done on purpose.  “Again, my deepest apologies, young master.” There was a breath of laughter on the tail end of the title and it made Damian scowl.  “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a villain to pursue.”

 

Damian watched the man do a springing flip back towards the balcony, much to the swooning of the surrounding women.  Nightwing landed perfectly on the stone rail and paused to give a salute and blow a kiss to the women.  A shadow drifted in Damian’s peripheral, causing him to grit his teeth in frustration when he realized his father was still in the room.  Before he could stop himself, he called out, just as the hero was preparing to leap.

 

“Oh, one more thing, Mister Nightwing.” With a graceful spin on his toes, the masked man made an easy about-face without moving place on the railing.  Damian walked forward, reaching out with a purposeful intent that drew immediate attention from the gossip-mongering crowd of guests and press.

 

Damian’s fingers slid provocatively along one gauntlet, tracing the ghost path of a formerly blue stripe to settle into a light rest in the crook of the vigilante’s elbow.  His head tilted back, a slight cock to the side; it was a motion that Dick recognized instinctively as the young man’s silent demand for a kiss.

 

“What are you doing?” The vigilante’s mouth didn’t move, but Damian heard him clear as day, the alarm prominent in his tone.  Of course, the apprehension did nothing to stay Dick’s inclination to respond in kind to the gesture, already shifting, fingers straying to rub a thumb up over the teenager’s Adam’s apple and press lightly into the underside of his chin.

 

There was an abrupt increase in the gusto behind the murmurs of the socialites and paparazzi littered throughout the ballroom, but ice blue eyes demanded all of his focus, making it impossible to look away.

 

“Is that really a question?  What does it look like I’m doing?” Damian felt the gentle pressure against him, not even aware the other man had moved, as fingers found the subtle bump of a rib through his dress shirt and followed it along a tickling path until it came to a stop beneath his coat jacket with a full hand curving around his side.

 

“It looks like you’re trying to create mass chaos.” There was a hint of tease, but also a snap of truth to the words, and Damian’s lashes lowered over narrowed eyes with a shrewd slant.

 

“Well, Father _did_ ask for a diversion.”

 

Dick almost didn’t stop his laugh at the comment, but his smile was irrepressible, cloth-covered fingers threading through short hair to cup the teen’s nape even as he leaned down.  “Somehow, I get the feeling this wasn’t what he meant.”

 

Damian rolled his eyes, tongue peeking out to wet his lips in a quick swipe.  “If he had a preference, then he should have explicitly stated as such.”

 

“You realize how much of a media nightmare this is going to create.” It really wasn’t a question, just an emphasis of what they both already knew.

 

“Yes, well, Father will have his hands full then, won’t he?” Damian’s breath brushed across the older man’s lips, softly filling the intimate space between them, and they both smiled.

 

The wind swirled up fiercely around them, and Damian’s hand gripped Dick’s hip instinctively to steady the man’s precarious perch, his suit jacket whipping out behind him, tie flying over his shoulder.  His fingers curled into the little give that the Nightwing suit had, and gave the smallest of tugs, Dick dropping the rest of the way to flush their lips together.

 

There were instant shouts and an uncountable number of camera flashes, and Damian held on tightly, his arm sliding up to hook around Dick’s neck when his feet lifted from the ground a few inches as Nightwing pulled back to sustain his balance on the railing.  Mouths opened, heat passing wetly between them, and a shiver of craving crashed over the pair.  There were squeals of delight, smattered with cries of shock from the onlooking crowd, and a strong arm drifted down to wind securely around the young heir’s waist as their passionate liplock continued with little concern for their audience.

 

Bruce’s face went through a series of repressed twitches, finding himself in the rare situation of being nearly unable to suppress his mixed amusement and irritation.  He’d given his approval of the relationship once he’d pieced the rather obvious clues together, but he hadn’t encouraged them to be public with it.  And even if he had, he certainly wouldn’t have suggested such an abrupt--and scandalous, really, a Wayne heir involved with one of the Batman's brood--reveal.

 

The man was certain that the brazen act was nothing more than Damian’s personal brand of petulance over being forced to attend the gathering in the first place.  Resigned to the media riot that his sons had just incited with the shameless display, Bruce faded into the background of the uproar, slipping out to suit up and follow after Quinn while his two protégés were swarmed by the ravenous mob of reporters.

 

The aftermath would be dealt with later. 

 


End file.
